(still) too many

Yesterday on the Diane Rehm Show, author Alan Weisman was talking about his new book and associated topics. The premise of the book and conversation had to do with what the earth would look like if humans weren't around any more, how long it would take for ecologies to re-establish and stabilize, how long human monuments would remain... things like that. Along the way, the unavoidable issue of (over)population came up.

Overpopulation has been a long-standing gripe for me. There's a whole collection of problems that lead back to this one simple fact: there are too many humans on this planet, and they don't seem to notice that it's a problem.

We're producing ever-increasing debris and garbage. We're struggling (and even fighting wars) over sources of energy. We're gobbling up land needlessly and shitting all over it. And by "we" I mean all of us humans. And few notice or seem to care - everyone just wants to breed, breed, breed. When there is no food, no space, no peaceful places, one should not produce new children.

Consider China for a moment - about a billion people (uhh... I mean 'consumers'). 60 years ago, the government even put in place a one-child policy to avoid the pending meltdown that would occur due to over-population. Unintended consequence: with a preference for male children, China now has a large population of young and middle-aged single men, whose female counterparts may all have been married off already. I don't think I need to explain how a couple million rowdy boys can be a serious political stability problem. (it even makes a cameo appearance as a plot device in Shadow of the Hegemon) ... and that even before talking about all the other wacky situations China is facing.

Heck, even the Dali Lama knows it's a problem - though for him, it's more of a problem reconciling his environmentalism with his love for every human life (so he says, in "10 Questions for the Dali Lama"). Me, not so much with the paradox reconciliation.

There's just too many people on the planet. It was 6,000,000,000 in 1999. 7 years later, it's around 6,600,000,000. Think it's going to stop growing any time soon? If only...

Icelanders/shark

Seems like a lot of work to eat an animal full of toxins. Don't they have baby seals to eat?

Walmart-ification

The saddest thing about the Wal-mart-ification of America? Not that every product sold was outsourced overseas, has a design lifetime of 1 year, is non-repairable/disposable, and gives you cancer... and not that every job will be as either a cashier or a greeter at Wal-mart... it's that we'll all be shopping at Wal-mart, which, given what I've seen at their stores, means the average waist measurement of the population will be 52 and we'll have to use walkers and canes to walk because we'll have lost the ability to move under our own power.

not-so-criminal

Technically they're still probably guilty of trespassing and illegal entry, but still, it's pretty funny.

Death Ride wrap-up

It was good. Hard. Long. Getting on the bike at 6:00 am and rolling back to the cabin at 6:30 pm makes for a loooong day. Fred described it best: "You know what it's like to go for a 4-5 hour ride and think 'that was a long ride', but in this case, it's a whole day that disappeared while you were on the bike."

The track here shows the route - out and back to the far side bottom of Monitor Pass, same for Ebbett's, and then to the top of Carson's and then back. 127 miles total. Max speed: 53.6 mph



We got in on Thursday, assembled from various flight schedules, picked up luggage, bikes, and drove to the cabin. Along the way, little would we know that the playing of Rammstein's Amerika would result in it becoming the theme song for Team Old Style. We got unpacked at the cabin and went for a Massive Dinner and grocery shopping trip. Ate at a Basque restaurant family-style. That means sit down at long tables and food just starts showing up. No need for a menu - your only choice is what kind of meat you want, otherwise you eat what's put in front of you. And then food just keeps on coming... and coming... and coming...

Needless to say that with all the "Got Picon?" joke-y shirts and bumper stickers and such, some of us were compelled to try it. Not exactly going to become a household name anytime soon, but definitely better than moutai. A little bit of Port, some soaking in Diana's hot tub, some more Port, some staring at the stars, and then Team Old Style vent off to schleep.

Friday morning saw us putting bikes together by the light of the morning sun. Beautiful scenery, but dudes be looking pretty rough around the edges early in the morning. Faces only a mother could love. Figured we'd go for a ride to loosen the legs a bit and see what the countryside looked like - went for 40-miler with 3000 ft of up in it, out to Markleeville and the hot springs (beautiful, by the way) and then back past the cabin and out along Airport Rd, which is... duh, by the airport (basically, a strip of asphalt that has FAA signs on it - not much else).

So then we get to the sketchy bit - on the map when I was plotting a route for the GPS to guide us through, I thought "hmm... the dotted line usually means dirt road. Looks like this road suddenly becomes dirt. Think we should re-route? Nah. Just power through. It's only 1-2 miles of dirt. How bad can it be?" Well, it was the chunkiest bunch of buried sharp rocks I've ever had to dodge on a road bike with dainty tires. Steve apparently dodged all of 'em except one, so he got the first and only (as far as I know) flat of the trip. Good time for pictures, and I gotta say, if you're going to flat, you might as well flat in a nice little valley next to a pretty little lake.

So then we get back from the warmup ride and go to registration and find out that, contrary to our imaginings, registering as a team (even an ersatz one) does not simplify registration. It actually was more than frustrating, and there were other "teams" in the same boat. They told us to come back at 9pm and it'd all be sorted out. Annoying, to say the least. But the good thing was that there was lots of pretty eye-candy at the registration expo. I gotta say, I could get used to showing up at events for endurance athletes. Death Ride, dirt-triathlon, crit... damn there's a lot of toned, tanned, beautiful women hanging out wearing snug/skimpy clothing over their hardbodies. Meeeow.

With time to waste, we figure it's a good time to shop for brake pads and cassette for Andrew (his pads on the Cane Creek brakes were heinously hard and slippery), grab a coffee, and then head over Monitor Pass (the first one on the route for the event) to go to the casino with the all-you-can-eat spaghetti dinner. Along the way, seeing the road and the climb, that's when Andrew started metaphorically shitting his pants about the ride. He hadn't been getting any training in because of work and new baby at home, was feeling out of shape and heavy, and seeing the length and grade of the climb had him moaning and keening in the back seat. Eventually we got to the casino, it was a no-go for spaghetti, so we found a pizza/pasta joint down the road and ordered a shitload of food. 5 dudes polished away: 2 orders of spaghetti/meatballs, 2 orders of ravioli, 1 order of lasagna, and 2 pizzas. It was... a lot. All in the service of preparing for a long day ahead. Some burping, farting, and registration details later, we were tucked away in bed for a good night's sleep and a 4am wakeup.

The next morning was early. We elected to wait until the sun was up so that we wouldn't have to carry lights, so we hit the road at about 6:00. While still together on the Montior Pass climb, we got a kind fellow Death Rider to snap a photo of us while we were still all riding together. It's silly to try to stick together over 130 miles - people's rhythms on the climbs just don't match up, and everyone needs to go at their own pace. But for the first pass at least, we were reasonably together.

Later on in the day saw us catching up with each other at the rest/feed stops, and in at least one instance, Steve and Karl seem to have met up in the porta-potty.

Of course, some of the times we would meet up because someone was just getting to the top, and the other had already been down the other side and had come back up, but still, it was nice to be able to catch up and see how everyone was feeling. And it may have seemed silly getting matching jerseys before the ride, but it sure is easy to spot your buddies in rest areas and when they are blasting down at you at 50 mph. Not only that, but we got more than a few nice compliments on our stylish Old Style jerseys. So there. Team Old Style in tha' hizzie.

Technology-wise, what I feared might happen, happened.. the battery in my Garmin 305 wasn't up to the task of a 12-hour day. I got the "battery low" message at the start of the 5th climb, but wanting to record the high-speed descending, I turned it off for the climb and turned it on before blasting down (thus the missing 17 miles at mile 95).

When it comes to blasting down, I might weigh 200 lbs, and that's a non-trivial thing when you're trying to turn the 39x23 up the 10% and 12%. But when the direction is down? Oh, it's a different story. It's awfully easy to go fast down the hill.

I don't have balls big enough to let go and bomb down Ebbett's at Stupid Speed - there's some wacky bits on the way down. But Carson is wide open, and though it was open to traffic, there wasn't much (traffic). Besides, who in their right mind is going to try to pass a cyclist in the middle of the lane going 50 mph when there's oncoming traffic? None that I saw. Motorists were really pretty easy-going on the road. Heck, there's 3000 cyclists out there. By the time they got to passing me, they were used to the idea of bikes on the road.

So yeah, back to the "it was a long ride" part - my tender sitting places hurt a bit on Saturday night. Not to say that there weren't breaks from pedaling to be had - water and food stops at the top and bottom of each mountain pass. But at the top of Carson's Pass when I got back on my bike, clipping in and sitting down... yoinks. Cabin proprietress and masseuse extraordinare Diana tells me that it wasn't a sore muscle, but likely a tissue bruise (and we'll call it "minor", I know she meant to say so, even though the word didn't come out of her mouth)

So did I mention that I was pedaling a 39x23 on this? Yeah, that was stupid. Manly and awe-inspiring... but stupid.

Sure, it gave me something to brag about later at the cabin (i.e. "you buncha weines with your compact cranks and 11-27s... sissies, all o' youse."), but for many, many hours I would finding myself riding next to people spinning a much easier gear (triples, or 34x28s) and silently lust for their gearing. Oh yeah, and the simple fact that I could see what their gearing was means that I could see the right side of their bike (meaning that they were to the left of me, meaning that they were passing me). There's meaning in there somewhere, I'm sure of it. Regardless, when I back out the calculation of a 39x23 being 143 gear-inches, at 7mph on the up-sections, it would appear that I was climbing with a cadence of about 50 rpm. Not so good in the long term leg health, but my knees have felt fine during and ever since. Lucky, I guess.

But more importantly, it was pretty. Fun and pretty. Sure, slogging up the mountain is work. But when you turn around and tuck in and blast down the mountain faster than you've ever been, you very easily forget about the previous 2 hours of slow climbing that it took to get there. The views were amazing. The instant camaraderie with 3000 other people was unexpected, but in a day of shared suffering and exhilaration, a rather nice thing.

A couple days after getting back from the ride, someone asked me "so.. would you do it again? Maybe not next year, but some other time?" My free-association response: "I'd do it again next month if it wasn't so damn far away. Where do I sign up?"

overdue happenings

Been a while, I know. Just haven't exactly felt bloggish. Plenty been going on though...

At the moment I'm sitting in the Vegas airport on my [cough] 4 hour [gack] layover between Detroitia and Reno. Hey, at least they've got the free WiFi here - I sure as hell don't pay for access in airports. Internet access sure is handy when you're wringing your hands for 4 hours holding out hope that my bike got loaded on the plane at DTW and will make the transition in Vegas. AND I'm hoping it doesn't get murdered by the baggage handlers. You see, I'm heading out to ride the bike in the California Death Ride.

I'm certain of two things:
- There's no possible way that I'm trained up and "ready" for a ride like this. There's just no mountains in Michigan to practice on.
- Of all of my admirable qualities [ahem], tolerating pain and discomfort are two of them... along with stubbornness, of course.

These, along with my charming personality, shall see me through the day.

So what's been going on lately? Well, Andre had a birthday a couple weeks back, so he had a party. I entertained my aspirations of animatronic cake sculpturing, but discovered that maybe I was setting the bar too high for my second cake ever. I learned that buttercream frosting is NOT a good idea for a summer party - it just gets too thin when the temps go up. Imagine that, a forsting made predominantly out of butter... melts. Who'da thunk it?

Much carousing and fun was had. Folks got out instruments and played for a while on the back porch. Ok, who am I kidding, "a while" = 'til 2 or so. Gerry and Sean were guitaring, Dave with the keyboardin', and varying other people bopping in and out on the tunes. Dave played ALL night - I was worried that he might be glued to the keyboard, but it just seems that he be liking to play and don't like to stop. Hammed it up for the camera, too. (thanks Dave!)

I can't tell exactly what happened here though - either Warren got assaulted by his own accordion, or the mood lighting and relaxing effects of beverages made Accordion a little extra amorous, and this should have been a "private" moment.

Sheesh, hippies these days.

Stacey had a party a couple days later to celebrate the 4th and all things Americana, including such cocktails as "Old Fashioneds" and Manhattans. All sorts of hot-dish-esque American foods too - the pigs-in-a-blanket apparently were a hit, and the veggie-dog versions went over pretty well too. Of course, the kids got to 'em first, so that might explain things. And while Stacey might complain about not wanting people posting pictures of her, she can rest assured that, while I'm shameless about sharing some of them, the picture staring down into her cleavage will never leave my computer. See? It's all upside from here.

On the 7th (7/7/07), Jimmy organized another alleycat in Ann Arbor. It being a nighttime race was cool, especially since then there's this crazy train of silly bike people with blinky light charging through downtown terrorizing pedestrians and pissing off motorists in a mad dash to beat it to the next checkpoint, or beat out other racers, or whatever. I'm normally really quite law-abiding and peaceful, but when there's a race on, I let my good example self stay home (heck, there really wasn't even a prize, but winning be what matters and people and things are only obstacles in the way). Most motorists don't know what to do when they encounter bicyclists on the roads (other than yell or throw shit at us) so I think of it as removing the necessity for them to make a decision. I'll only be going into oncoming traffic for a second or two, and I'll be through the intersection faster than they can decide what to do.

So this was a scavenger-hunt format on the theme of the seven deadly sins, with mostly picture-taking to prove you were there, but at gluttony, you had to down 10 saltines without drinking anything before leaving the checkpoint. Which sucked. Riding hard, all out of breath and cottonmouth-y, then 10 crackers? I guess I'm glad it wasn't fat-free matzo or anything.

Things I learned this time? When there's a starting sprint to a checkpoint for dice roll to decide where to go first, you gotta be the first one to hit that. Standing in line behind other people who are already riding off makes me antsy as hell. So yeah, that's the occasion for the balls-out sprint. Oh yeah, and when you get in and take 2nd place, check the cameras of the team that took first. I swear, those dudes weren't even sweaty, and it was a hot night - did they even hit all of their checkpoints? I say this afterwards, but didn't think of it at the time, and Jimmy wasn't really checking, electing more for the honor system than anything else. Dang. Coulda had 1st. Next time maybe.

Funny thing, I *just* saw the baby-faced young guy (on the team that took first) out at the track a couple days previous when I went to "beginner's night". I was kinda bummed out because by the time I got there it was threatening to rain, and by the time I got changed, it rained. We waited, and it stopped and almost dried out, but then it rained again, and that sucked. Ah well, I'll have to wait until some other week. The track looks like fun. I don't know if I've got what it takes, but heck, what can it hurt? (oh yeah, legs and lungs, that's right...)

Alrightey, time to get on a plane. Cross your fingers and wish the baggage handlers luck in getting the bike on the same plane that I'm on.

Dexter Crit race

Well, a big old lukewarm is what I've got for you, dear readers.

Felt ok-ish, stayed in it near the front, didn't crash, didn't crash anyone out, but didn't bring the cheese home, either.

No great mysteries either - the crux of the biscuit was in the last lap, halfway through the lap, going up the hill before the downhill S-curve and straightaway finish. Fairly obvious spot to put on the oomph for the finish, and I even thought about it during the warmup laps. I knew it, but blew it. I'm the kind of guy that doesn't have a whole lot of "pop" - it takes me a while to wind up to full speed. So since there's not a lot of passing in the S-curve, and the straightaway is pretty short, I probably should've started pushing earlier up the hill instead of responding to other people making moves and watching them from behind.

Aaaaanyway... mid-pack finish for me on a field of 20-25 dudes - and now I know now - I need to remember to go early, go often. (er.... ok, maybe just early).

All in all, it was fun. Me likey.

There ain't nothin' going on in MI for a while until the Ada Crit... might have to go to Ohio for racey-poo. (or, maybe I should go see what that track thing is all about) Then again, there's Death Ride in a few weeks... maybe instead of working on fast, I should work on putting on distance and that up-the-mountain thing. Bah. Whatever. The wheels-on-the-bike-go-round-and-round...

preparing to...

... I don't know, have something to say? (bizarre, yes, but bear with me)

You see, last night I made my virtual way over to the sign up spot for the Dexter Crit and, along the way, to USA Cycling (to get that license thingie). So I'm committed. In shape or not, psyched or not.
Saturday, me be racin'.

So though I've been putting miles in all season, it's all been friendly group ride miles. You know, where etiquette matters and smooth and polite is the order of the day (town sign sprints excepted, of course). So... I figure I better get my fast-n-hard-cornerin' brain in the mood, so I went to the Velo Club crit practice last week and this week. Last week, I was feeling like a punk because I couldn't hang on when the speed cranked up in the last lap or two. This week, the same. But it's a mixed group of people, everyone from newish dudes like me to Cat1/2s. So I wasn't the first to fall off, I'll say. And that if you're not in the lead group going into the finish, it seems that folks are calm and don't exactly sprint for 6th. (it's a practice race, ya know...)

So what's my point in all this? Well, since this is the first race I've entered in... 12 years? (yikes) ... I have NO IDEA what to expect out of the Cat5 race. Compared to riding with the big-lung/big-leg dudes? I guess I'll be preparing to say:

a) how surprised I was at how slow the race was
b) how surprised I was at how fast the race was
c) how good I felt (if I did well)
d) how badly I felt (if I did poorly)
e) all of the above

Am I nervous? Yeah, sure. Am I worried? No, I guess not (worried about what?) Anxious? Sure.

Hell, I could go 'round and 'round for hours like this. I need to quit thinking like it's life-or-death. It's just ridin' a bike around town, goin' hard and tryin' to do it harder and faster than other dudes.

Right?

Freakonomics

I picked up Freakonomics from the library a while back. Interesting, but not nearly as fascinating as I was led to believe by the Really! Great! Reviews! And! Radio! Interviews!

While it satisfies some of my hankerings for complexity, it does so at a rhetorical level, making a point about how fascinating X, Y and Z are because the author is so revolutionary in thinking of them this way. And if you're wondering: "So... is he saying that 'Freakonomics' falls into the category of 'mental masturbation'?" Yes.... yes I am.

Regardless, I'll just say that if the popular buzz of 2005 (when the book came out) does anything for people looking at life's events in a more nuanced way, then I guess it has done some good. Would I recommend it? Sure. It's a relatively short/quick read - good for bedtime or bathroom reading, or if you're the voracious-reading type, it's maybe a day or two diversion from whatever you're using to tide yourself over until the final installment of Harry Potter and the Splendiferous Obsession With Countdowns comes out in hardcover. (hey Wendy, yes, that means you... And I have just three little words of tenderness to say to you: gimme some cheesecake.)

Notable Quotables that stuck out in my brain enough that I made note of them:
----------------
When discussing how Experts are not necessarily always working in the best interests of their clients - i.e. Real Estate Agents, Cardiologists, Political/Journalist Consultants - pg 148: "[an] expert whose argument reeks of restraint or nuance doesn't get much attention."

How true. And how sad. Like the evening local TV news - if it bleeds, it leads. No actual news, just violence, tragedy, and scandal.
----------------
In the chapter about how the Ku Klux Klan behaves in a incentive-based way like Real Estate Agents selling houses, he talks about how the Klan incentivises docility in the black community by terrorizing people - pg 62: "and there are few incentives more powerful than the fear of random violence - which, in essence, is why terrorism is so effective."

When I read that, I'm not seeing how the threat of terrorism is used by terrorists, but how the threat of random violence by some sort of unknown... somebody... is used by Bush, et. al. as a tool to get whatever they want. As long as people are constantly made afraid, and afraid of unknown random violence, they will become docile and compliant.

Ever notice how the middle setting of the threat advisory is "Elevated"? Essentially, on a scale of 1 to 5, the middle/average still is designed to cause fear. Makes you really wonder who is terrorizing whom.

What are YOU afraid of today?

(and how can someone else use that fear to manipulate you?)

sex and taxes

OK, so I know my life is lacking in some ways, but I assure, I have good reason to have been searching tax documents this afternoon. Really, I swear, it's not because I couldn't find anything better to do.

And along the way, searching for the things I want, I notice all kinds of other things... that are irrelevant, but nevertheless fascinating... Did you know: being a paid informant is income-tax free?

From the 2007 Federal 1099-MISC tax form instructions:
--------------------------------------------------------
Fees paid to informers. A payment to an informer as an award, fee, or reward for information about criminal activity is not required to be reported if the payment is made by a federal, state, or local government agency, or by a nonprofit organization exempt from tax under section 501(c)(3) that makes the payment to further the charitable purpose of lessening the burdens of government. For more information, see Regulations section 1.6041-3(I).
--------------------------------------------------------

... so does this mean that if Larry Flynt set up a 501(c)(3) and found out something about a Senator that ended up just happening to be illegal where they did it (e.g. polygamy, sodomy, adultery, bestiality, necrophilia), the person who gives up the info gets the $1M tax-free? How funny would that be?

dork crush

Holy crap... I saw "Pipedream" at the St. Paul science museum, checked out this guy's stuff, and I just have to say that I got a big old mental boner looking at his work. Check out some of his projects at www.taomc.com.

I am so gushing... I think I want to be this guy when I grow up. I looked at his mini-CV and wondered "why did he give up a career in internal medicine?" Well, it's pretty obvious... if you can make a living out of doing cool stuff like this... well, I can definitely understand giving up a lot of stuff.

notable quotables

mental debris of late, accumulating and peeking out here and there...


"Nearly all men can withstand adversity. But if you want to test a man's character, give him power"

- Muneer Malik
(president of the supreme court bar association in Pakistan speaking at a seminar and addressing the Musharef/Judicial situation, but telling a truth that applies far and wide)

"'You don't need to' I say, 'you are normal.'... I cannot say the rest, that I think, that he is easy in his body, that he sees and hears and tastes and smells and feels what others do, so his reality matches theirs."

- from The Speed of Dark by Elizabeth Moon
(while about the interior world of a man with autism, the notions of consensual reality in the "normal" world apply too)

"He was a fierce satirist of his own culture, but nursed what he called a 'romantic love' for the U.S. For him, the country represented a vigorous modernity, unencumbered by history."

- blurb on the wall about artist George Grosz next to his work on display at the Walker Art Center (which seems so relevant in these days... while the U.S. is a relatively new nation compared to old world european nations, we're accumulating baggage and becoming encumbered by our own history more and more)

"It's really easy to get out of the habit of intimate socializing"

- excerpt from The Amazing Adventures of Captain Bland and Dr. Sabbatical

"You there... able-bodied lazy rich white girl. Yes, you... You are not old, injured or incapable. Pick up your fucking feet when you walk. You are lazy shuffling moron, and showing contempt for the soles of your shoes (and the pavement) only proves how spoiled and worthless you are."

- Me

buncha assholes

So here we are in the lovely Twin Cities of Minnesota, G and I... me with the lounging about town, her with the work, digging in the archives and public records. Staying with gracious hosts Fred and Mona for the week and cavorting about town on occasion. Yesterday morning, she's leaving in the morning to go out into the wild and woolly world when she comes back in with just a single sentence.

"The bikes are gone"

What? (the fuck?)

Her bike was missing along with one of Fred's. (After a phone call, it seems Fred rode into work, but hers was definitely gone.) We'd brought our bikes along as a way of getting around town (and me, I was of the mood to put on some miles too), and were parking them in the garage, right near Fred's bikes. The garage where Fred keeps all his bikes. And overnight, someone went to some trouble to break in, and took her bike. After more than a year of bikes being stored there, the fuckers pick THIS week to break in, when the out-of-towners are visiting. And while there's beau coup pricey bikes around once they were in the garage, they steal the one with the most sentimental value to it's owner. Fucking assholes.

We made a police report and all that but there's harsh reality - it's not likely to be recovered. There's just too many places it could go, so many bikes in this town, it's not so unique a bike it doesn't get lost in the multitude of other bikes, and cops don't exactly consider it as seriously as they would violent crime. Nevertheless, my font of anger bubbles about such things.

I think back to the days back at the shop I worked at in my youth. Occasionally, a bike belonging to a shop regular or employee would get stolen, a bike near and dear that was known around town. The word would go out on the street, and every now and then, bike people would get lucky and someone would see the bike somewhere. Revenge and reclamation ensued, whether it be a confrontation, a call to the police, or chasing the fucker down and knocking their sorry ass off it.

If it could happen more often, the Brutal Reclamation...

My angry self tells me this.

In the place where there used to be trusty transportation, a light breeze, and a smooth rolling along, there's sadness and pockets of anger.

But there's memories, too. Lots of old ones. And a couple of new fresh ones that are happy and good. There's more memories to come, with a bike that will come anew to a home that's already ready to welcome it.

roll-a-dahby/run-run-run the weekend

An action-packed weekend it was... Not only did I get flashed (and offered to have the sweat licked off me) by ****y [Who shall remain nameless, to protect the guilty. You know who you are, Madam Feistiness.] during the Normal Park yard-sale-a-palooza, but Stacey and I went to the Derby. Roller Derby, that is.

It seems that Detroit has quite the roller derby league going on, and it's a nationwide phenomenon to boot. I didn't quite know what to think going into it. There's so much pagentry and attitude about it, I was partly suspecting that it was more entertainment than competition - a la WWF/WCW/world-wrestling-whatever. But after the first period, I got a better idea of what's going on in the rink (er, I mean "flat track" - do they have banked oval derby leagues? apparently so). In the second period, skaters were starting to work harder so the spectacle of it gave way to the competition of it. And regardless of the fact that Stacey and I didn't have nearly enough tattoos to be considered as part of the cool kids, it was a pretty good time. You know there's hilarity to be ensuing when a couple hours before going out, sitting on Stacey's porch with folks drinking beer, T says "you're going to roll a doobie?" "uh... no, we're going to The Roller Derby." Freudian slip of the ear? You be the judge.

And then on Sunday came the Dexter-Ann Arbor Run. I didn't run (translation: "hell with that.. running is too much work"), but volunteered to help out with lead-biking the course for the half-marathon and calling in times as the leader passed mile-markers. I wasn't expecting to get soaked by rain on the ride out to the start in Dexter though...

Anyhoo, I'm not a runner, but this I do know: when a runner can hit the 10-mile mark at 47 mins, they are a bad-ass mofo. Sub 5-minute miles for 13 miles? Wow. The dude who won (Alene Reta) was leading from the start - a group of 4 off the front in the first 1/2 mile split to 2 by the 4th mile, and then Reta started slowly pulling away from home-town favorite Brian (who had quite the cheering section along the course, I might add), adding about 5 seconds of lead every time he passed a mile marker.

Pretty big turnout for what seems like a local thing - thousands of people. I heard a bunch of different numbers - there was a bib# 3000 among the marathoners apparently, but registration was 2300. In the 10k, Suzanne said she finished mid-pack at 900th, and if you guess at the number of 5k-ers, I'll go with something on the order of 5000-8000 people total. And then at the end of it all, it rained again. But I had already been wet and gritty for a couple hours already.

After the running stuff, a shower, and a disco-nap for me, some folks met up at Connor O'Neill's to celebrate Suzanne's birthday and running of the 10k. Fred was in town for a wedding and came out and hung out, drinking beer and chatting with Georgina and I in multiple pubs about multiple topics, which was so much more than fun. Quite the fortuitous opportunity - Fred getting to meet and chat with G before our roadtrip up to the Twin Cities. I'm pretty stoked about it, and am not only glad that we'll get to hang out with Fred and Mona and the kids (in between my goofing off/riding the bike/touristing, and G's intensely worky researchy city-archive-digging), but thankful to them being gracious hosts and putting us up for the week. Heck, I'm even stoked to be manslaving to progress their house remodel/redecorate/rewhateveryoucallit.

Management and The Condor

A couple weeks ago I was giving some customer training to plant floor folks (hourly union skilled tradespeople) when the small talk in between training tasks drifted to the vagaries and ineptitudes of management. Since I'm in a position of getting supervised/managed and have had to be supervisory/managerial myself, I found my self fence-sitting and doing devil's advocacy work. And what I heard was something I have heard at least a dozen times before. That management has no idea what's really going on, middle managers get cycled in and out and have no experience, that they're just messing up the works. To which I ask: "Well, if you were in their position, how would you handle it? What would you do differently?" The response comes, like it always does: "Just get out of the way, stop trying to tell people what to do and just everyone do their jobs the way they know how."

On it's face, sure, there's not much to argue with... if people know their jobs, trusting them to be conscientious and diligent should result in a smooth running machine of industry. People are happy, the plant is productive, everyone wins, right? I don't doubt that it's possible for 10, 20, 50 people to work in an egalitarian environment, in a flat structure, where everyone contributes their experience to decision-making. There's plenty of examples of co-ops, kibbutzes, etc. where that works.

But put 1000 people on the same shift into the synchronized human/machine organism of industrial manufacturing, and there just have to be organizing principles. Someone to resolve disputes, someone to coordinate schedules, someone to decide between equivalent options, someone to look out for safety, someone to distribute paychecks. So even if the Standard Argument ("just get out of the way and let people do their jobs") were put into play, eventually the functions of management would evolve anyway out of necessity. And engineeering, and product development, and marketing, and accounting, etc.

It seems I'm siding with management today. Call me an pawn of The Establishment, but how often can one have revolution after revolution and not end up in a state of constant upheaval? And what makes revolutionaries think that they won't, in time, be revolted against themselves? That somehow their received wisdom is more perfect than that of those they overthrew?

Why, you ask, would I be blathering about this now? I saw "Three Days of the Condor" last night, and at the end, as Condor confronts Higgins about why all the killing went on, what possible purpose the cold war intelligence games have, and Higgins makes a relevant point:
---------------------------
Condor: "What is it with you people? Do you think not getting caught in a lie is the same as telling the truth?"

Higgins: "No. It's simple economics. Today it's oil, right? In 10 or 15 years, food, plutonium. And maybe even sooner. Now what do you think the people are going to want us to do then?"

Condor: "Ask them."

Higgins: "Not now, then. Ask them when they're running out. Ask them when there's no heat in their homes and they're cold. Ask them when their engines stop. Ask them when people who have never known hunger start going hungry. You want to know something? They won't want us to ask them. They'll just want us to get it for them."
----------------------------
I guess what I'm trying to say is that, when there's someone planning or anticipating the future, there will always be those who will pass judgment after the fact. But the question I ask is: If you were in their place, in the same situation, balancing the same issues, with the same pressures, what makes you think that you would have come to a better solution? One that is the best result, the least evil, and in the time required?

Hindsight is 20/20, and I'm as guilty as the next in Monday-morning quarterbacking, but I guess what I'm saying if that for Management to be able to trust Labor's intentions to "just do their job because they know what to do", Labor needs to trust Management's intentions the same way.

fingers

A dream that comes back in snippets occasionally - about fingers. Five of them (ok, 4 and a thumb). I'm walking through Home Depot, for some reason looking behind a shelf/display, and seeing 5 severed fingers just sitting there on top of an old spool of wire. The spool is dusty, but the fingers are fresh (but not oozing, which is clearly a continuity problem in my dream). There's no one around, so I pick them up, thinking "someone is gonna need these"

From there, I wander around the store, 5 non-oozing fingers in my hand, sometimes doing my shopping along the way, not trying to conceal the fingers, but I recognize how disturbing it might be for people to see severed fingers in a fellow shopper's hand. The thing is, I don't have a speck of self-consciousness in this... I'm ok with the fact that I have someone else's fingers in my hand. I came by them honestly, and I mean to do good by them. It's just kinda weird that they were just left there. You'd think someone would care about them more.

One "dream symbolism" site says: "To dream that your fingers are injured or have been chopped off, denotes your anxieties about your ability to accomplish some demanding task or perform in some waking situation." and "To see a wire in your dream, symbolizes your short but frequent journeys. To see old or rusty wire in your dream, signifies your bad temper." and "To see a spool in your dream, symbolizes your need for order and structure. Things need to be neat." And if I paid attention to horoscopes and other malarkey, I would say "[shrug] well, 2 out of 3 ain't all that wrong"

... but see, they're not my fingers. Is it a conservation thing? (trying to clean up a little and just waiting to walk past a garbage can) It is anxieties about someone unknown to me? (someone else's fingers)

Or is it just weird middle-of-the-night meanderings of my brain? It's not lost on me that there seems to have been product placement/branding in my dream. Who put that in there?

print media vs. bloggage - now I understand...

I've often been puzzled by the enthusiasm over the past few years - I mean, bloggers as a news source? Are you kidding me? I mean, seriously folks... who is kidding who? When boneheads like me can do something as silly as what is essentially composing an email to themselves (and then, in a fit of narcissism, showing the whole world), how seriously can you take it?

I was a hold out for the vaunted prestige of print journalism... until about 5 minutes ago. You see, I thought "These folks have the momentum of professionalism behind them - careers, printing presses, advertisers... the whole shebang. Surely they know what they're doing." Well, that was until today during my morning constitutional. I was reading a copy of Road Magazine that I picked up from a newsstand. I'll admit, I was enticed by the glossy shiny bike porn pictures. But when you actually read it, they have 8th graders writing the articles and interviews. Seriously. For a magazine that must pay gobs of money for the photos (and I'll admit, they're pretty damn good photos indeed), you'd think they would actually read what they're writing and realize how tepid, dry, and inane it is. If I want short, declarative sentences that describe nothing, I'll read Hemingway.

And this is when I realized that the Rise of the Blog is not necessarily because of its innate superiority, but more because most print media has set the bar so low.

At least some rags have decent online writing. And for the fun about dudes and dudettes riding bikes, it's Smithers, Vanderpoop, et. al. I might not live anywhere near Cali, but that Vanderhoot, he sure is fun to read.

And to make matters worse, the evening news no longer contains actual news - just crime, disaster, and scandal, followed by sports and weather (translated into emotional responses in the viewer of "be afraid, be afraid, be afraid, buy things you don't need, take an umbrella"). The same seems to be true of local newspapers. Every Monday, the Ann Arbor News newspaper delivery boy delivers free copies on my doorstep to try to get me to subscribe. It's the local rag, but it's a crappy paper (and I'm annoyed by the litter on my doorstep). The Detroit News and Free Press aren't much better. Where are the decent local newspapers? The Chicago Tribune ain't exactly local, but it's midwestern and decent. It might be in for some changes though... And going out to either the East or West Coast for news obviously is problematic in the context of "local".

Ok, damn, I'm blathering. Blue skies outside. Good time for a long ride.

Daywatch

Coming in June... part 2 of the Nightwatch trilogy - Daywatch. If you didn't catch Nightwatch and are a fan of the epic-battle-between-good-and-evil set-in-a-modern-day-shoot-em-up with-cool-soundtrack-and-reluctant-hero type of movie, you should definitely check out Nightwatch. Getcha started, ya know?

(of course, the whole "Chalk of Destiny" thing sounds a little too much like Bulletproof Monk or Tenacious D, but I'll give the Russians the benefit of the doubt and see it anyway)

to save or not to save

A weekend that includes spring cleaning, and the pile of mail that I have ignored for the past week or two. Among them, a thank you card for a wedding gift. For about two seconds, I pondered "is this something people save?" I'm genetically predispositioned to packrat-itis, but there's a rudely pragmatic and non-sentimental streak in me too - so bad that I had to be put in my place once by a friend-in-law who witnessed me disposing of a birthday card she sent me a few weeks previous. My reasoning: "why should I hold onto a $2.50 card that just has 'Hope you have a great one!' in it? I mean... the sentiment is nice, but I feel no emotional connection to this card" Her objection: "well don't do it in front of me..." (ok, I learned my lesson, I'm a tactless nob)

The thank you card at least had two sentences in it by way of thank you, but it went in the trash anyway. As much as I love my paper shredder though, I didn't shred it. 'Cause that would just be callous.

I fingure I have to draw the line somewhere.

road trip...

Haven't been out of town in a while (ok, a couple weeks). The summer has a finite duration. I, like all living organisms, will eventually die.

Put all of those things together, and the appropriate action is to hit the road and see more of the world now, while I can. I went to Minneapolis-St. Paul to visit with Fred and Mona about a year ago, so how 'bout going there again? Go riding the hilly bits with Fred before going out to Cali for Death Ride.

Sounds like a plan. I'm a-lookin' forward to it.

Now, all I've got to do is hope Matthew and Sandra bought a similar house out in Portland (similar in that they're enlisting manslaves to lift and tote and scrape paint and move furniture and such) so that I can have an excuse to road trip out that way and fuss around in Portland.